Shoot the Poets
by dolly shoes
Summary: Apparently, heroes are never forgotten long after their deaths. Heroes live on in tales of their greatest adventures. Not everyone can be a hero; some people have to sit on the pavement and cheer. C/B drabble.


Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing characters for non-profitable purposes.

A/N: hmm, more C/B drabble. Not sure where I stand on the finale yet, it was okay. I'm glad they're not planning on ruining Chuck, cause I love him just the way he is but I really would like him to be with Blair. Whatever, I'm hopeful for season two (and surprisingly, about Nate/Serena action!). Okay, so the name for this fic comes from the cribs song, which I absolutely adore and haven't been able to stop playing recently. I hope you enjoy, reviews make me happy (so long as you're not too mean)!

* * *

Sometimes you think it's a bit unfair how people tag Nathaniel as the golden boy and you as the bad seed. But you learned long ago you'd never be able to change people's minds on you, (you're a Bass, remember) so you stopped caring, stopped trying and just fell into what everybody expected. They'd pigeonholed you from the word go, Nate too. He just got a higher opinion because he was an Archibald. You're new money, he's old. One of your parents killed themselves and the other is a heartless, womanizer. Nate's have a seemingly unshakeable marriage, both are hard working, respectable pillars of society. Apparently.

You love Nate, but sometimes you'd really like to smack him about a bit. Just to get some sense into him. It's good you never acted on this urge because Nathaniel is stronger and faster than you. Perhaps you should have spent more time in gym class rather than smoking and watching from the sidelines.

'Do you ever feel there's just no meaning in our lives, whatsoever?' Nathaniel asks as he pouts and eyes his pot. He's talking a lot of this philosophy crap lately, you think it's because he's got to much time on his hands now that Serena's fled to boarding school and he can't pine over her. This whole deep thinking shit doesn't suit your pretty boy captain of the lacrosse team friend, so there's another reason you wish Serena would return.

'Stop talking your emo bull crap and smoke up.' You could probably be a bit more supportive about Nate's identity crisis, but you've heard just about enough of his whining. What did he want anyway? 'Meaning is just what poets rant on about because, unlike us, they have no money, and need to sell a few fanciful sonnets to idiots like you who lap it up.' You don't even know if you're talking sense any more, your mind is hazy and Nate is confusing you with literature and immortality and shit. Again. 'Just shut up, Nathaniel.'

Later you go home and think about the question he asked you. But then it makes your head hurt so you go have a shower before heading out to a party at that guy on Nate's lacrosse team's house.

* * *

She sits proudly at your father's side, and you can't understand how she's suddenly smiling and chatting and laughing while minutes ago you heard her weeping behind the bathroom door. 'Mother?' you're voice, so timid and hushed was not at first heard above her strangled sobs so you repeat again, 'Mother? Are you okay?' The wood is cold beneath your fingertips.

The cries stop abruptly and you can hear the harsh intake of breath as she attempts to control herself. You wish you had the ability to walk through walls, all of a sudden. 'Oh, Charles, darling,' she speaks steadily although there is the slightest hitch at the end of her sentence. 'I'll be out in a minute, you'd better get back to dinner. Run along now.'

No one else seems to notice the red-rims to her dazzling emerald eyes, but perhaps that's because they're not looking for it. No one else catches the shake of her hand or the slightly pink-tinge to her nose. Her smile is a little forced, her laugh a little fake, her conversation a little reserved.

And you're just six years old so you can't understand.

You find it strange how death is romanticised. Apparently, heroes are never forgotten long after their deaths. Heroes live on in tales of their greatest adventures. Not everyone can be a hero; some people have to sit on the pavement and cheer.

No one knew the exact time when your mother died. Some time in the night, you are told. But no one knows the exact moment when she ceased to take another breath, and that just seem right. It angered you that after the funeral, time went on. People went on. They said they were sorry for your loss, but they didn't seem that sorry as they drank champagne at her wake, the scent of their Chanel perfume fading with the summer sunlight. After her death, life went on. And that didn't settle right with you.

You think that one of the cruellest things in life is love. Before you yourself fell into the trap, you scoffed at those who claimed it was everything. 'Chemical reactions in the brain.' That's what you'd say. You couldn't understand how Nate allowed himself to fall harder and harder for Serena, when all it bought him was misery.

Every story was the same. You're mother loved your father, but he didn't love her, Nate loved Serena, but she didn't love him, Blair loved Nate, but he didn't love her.

And yours was no different. You loved Blair but she didn't love you. Of course she didn't. She was crazy about Nathaniel, always had been.

And love bought you heart-break, like it did everyone and you hated it more than you did before when you watched other fall head over heels for each other from the sidelines. Life was simpler then, when you were a "fuck 'em and leave 'em" type of guy. You wish you could go back to that, but apparently, once you go Blair Waldorf there's no turning back. Great.

So you watch helplessly as your world disintegrates around you, as you lose everything because of one woman. It's strange, how someone so seemingly innocent can be your downfall. She takes your heart, your pride, your dignity, and your loyalty to Nathaniel and never, ever, not once, says 'please' first. Well that's just rudeness, you think to yourself as you mull it all over with a glass of scotch in hand whilst lazing around a beach in Monaco.

* * *

You wonder why it is Nathaniel and Blair are supposedly 'meant to be'. To be honest, you can't see the world ending if those two aren't together. You're pretty sure life will, just like after your mother's death, go on.

Apparently, they're perfect for each other. Because Nathaniel is a white knight and Blair is a princess. Well, you've seen Blair disappointed by Nate many a time, and he didn't seem so prince charming then. Anyway, if Nate is supposed to take Blair off on his trusty stead, shouldn't he know where he's going first? Truth is, Nate is just as lost as everyone else. Nate is not a golden boy, a white knight, a prince charming. He is human.

'You don't belong with Nate, never have never will.' You tell Blair, as her warm body goes willingly in your arms. She smells like expensive perfume and seaweed shampoo, the material of her dress feels watery beneath your finger tips.

'You don't belong with anyone.' True. But that's enough talk of belonging. Her lips are soft and familiar.

Not everyone can be a hero; some people have to sit on the pavement and cheer, and some people have to be the challengers.


End file.
